CLIMATE CHANGE

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The man who lived in the desert

had never seen a world full of green promise.

The man who lived in the rainforest

had never seen the sun-burnt-out grass.

The man who lived on icy planes so white

kept his eyes half-closed to protect his sight.

The man who lived in the dark cave

kept torches burning to light his way.

Until now.

Now, that the ice has melted,

the cave has flooded,

roots rot green fields, soil turned to clay,

and winds blow the desert away.

Across the planet men are in dismay.

Now, each man is on the move

looking for a new safe place.

Earth trembles beneath the feet 

of so many on the move.

Too many play ring-around-the rosy days of yore

until we all fall down.

There is no going back.

There is only today.

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SNOW FALL

The world is falling apart, its people deranged.

War and famine join as climates change.

People are on the move to escape the pain.

Water cleanses in blasts and depths unseen.

We wade through facts, the truth unseen.

Snow starts in the upper atmosphere.

Warm air below alters snow

unless we remain cool

where heated skies collide

and moisture tears up in our eyes.

Watching the snowfall gives us hope.

It blankets ugliness’ scope falling on all of us with equal glaze.

Snow reminds us of our better selves and better days.

Spring warmth is gentle like our souls.

It melts the snow so flowers may grow

within the gardens of our hearts.

We are in the midst of a great change.

Unsettled as Spring weather

we must remember we go through this change together.

And those of us who garden will share the bounty of what we sow

with all who are willing to enter

our gates, their needs in tow.

The old world is dying with every angry breath.

Snow in Spring reminds us there is new life after death.

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Campaign Music

No single note is discordant.

No single vote voiced is wrong.

How the songwriter

puts the notes together

determines the song.

Our brains fine-tune our ears

to listen for the meaning

of words carried on the notes.

Some songs lift our spirits

to reach a higher cause.

Some songs depress our spirits

and make our hearts pause

with the fear of the other

we hated all along.

Some songs get us on our feet

to dance together, smile and sing.

Some songs hold us in our seats

ready to shout out in defeat.

The songs which truly make us strong

Are those we can rely upon

to offer hope, and love, and peace.

How the notes are brought together means everything.

The music that is America

is hard to sing if notes

are not treasured,

So many notes over so many years

from so many places refugees fled in fear

of famine, crime and even war.

We have sung the song of safety and of freedom,

welcoming all to our shore.

Songs that open minds and hearts

are the best place to start

a journey to a better future;

unlike the songs meant to keep us apart.

So many discordant notes

strung together create chaos,

not a strong and lovely song.

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THE LIGHT WE REFUSE TO SEE

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I used to believe Truth lived in the shadows.

If only we could shine enough light,

then Truth would be set free

for all to see.

There are those who prefer we stay in the dark,

it is true. They fear the Light will open our eyes.

It is no longer so easy to darken the streets 

upon which we set our feet

hoping to reach a place of greater liberty.

Truth speeds around the world 

from one shadowed place to the next.

Through media Truth moves at the speed of light.

Truth seekers use facts to light our way

along the path to a new day,

one where Light holds sway.

The darkness can no longer hide Truth in shadow.

Those who live in the dark side of life

create new truths able to live in false Light.

In their constant retelling of lies

Truth simply dies in plain sight.

The battle between the Light and the Dark,

between Truth and Lies

is now exposed in MAGA prose

stealing the limelight with false praise

for oligarchs, autocrats and murderers

whose only goal is to control

the flow of wealth into their own pockets

while those who work to be whole

starve and struggle at their feet.

Those forced to  flee and seek amnesty as refugees

would add their story to our own 

brightening the Truth we already know.

The telling would not surprise the homeless

who walk our own streets.

The homeless, like Truth, used to hide in shadow.

We try to keep them there so we cannot see

the borders they have crossed.

Truth and Light and Love are all apiece.

Without Love we are blind and refuse to seeTruth.

There is no Light strong enough to overcome

deliberate blindness cushioned by lies.

We allow them in boardrooms, newsrooms,

hearing rooms and even, courtrooms.

“Speak Truth to Power,” isn’t that what we say?

When Power seizes the Light with falsehood

can we not see that False Light

can never be allowed to hold sway?

True Light is always more powerful than false.

Liars know this and ban books, and oppose

all who stand alight within Truth’s glow.

This is the one thing I still know.

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STAY TUNED:OBSTRUCTIONISM IS STILL ON THE TABLE,By Louise Annarino,November 9,2012

STAY TUNED: OBSTRUCTIONISM IS STILL ON THE TABLE,By Louise Annarino, November 9,2012     Team, This victory is a testament to you. Take pride in your…

STAY TUNED:OBSTRUCTIONISM IS STILL ON THE TABLE,By Louise Annarino,November 9,2012

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TWO DIFFERENT TEA PARTIES

Louise at tea with friends

We sit together in the tea room,

four friends sharing stories of our lives

as we have done since first grade.

Now, older ladies at age seventy-five

the stories remain the same in the telling

if not in the content, with little to no surprise.

Our stories are those told by women over time

while their aged hands hold cups of calming tea

Heart-hands are held within the circle of our lives.

We studiously avoid this day 

what brings us to our knees to pray.

We know our country and our world’s democracy

is sadly  attacked, torn, bleeding and frayed

by hypocrites who lie and find distorted ways

to describe the problems we all face.

We agree the Republican Party is a disgrace.

Its leaders praise and offer support

to Putin, Orban and the sort of autocrat

who rules with iron hands and deadly fists,

claiming they are too MAGA strong to resist.

Laughingly, as if they are proud

supporters rally round Trump, shouting loud

with triumphant cheers, they form a crowd

of sycophants and fools who hide their fear

within the lies of those they cheer.

They no longer need to wear white sheets.

They are legally and openly armed to the teeth

to create a white supremacist militia.

They act with impunity in every community,

even in D.C. on the 6th. of January.

Hate crimes increase, threats roam the streets,

and gather openly in social media accounts

where they can hide their hate with open pride.

We old ladies have no fear. We have seen this before.

We have lived long enough to recall all 

those who “drank the tea” and raised the cup

to the “Tea Party” who plotted it all,

willing to watch America fall

so long as Republican supporters with great stealth

could retain their hold on power, and keep their wealth.

This is nothing new. We watched it happen as too few

paid any attention to how it happened and came to be

that we face the loss of our very treasured democracy.

They attack our very humanity, and make love a sin.

Their victimhood becomes a sign of religious grace.

Too many “find Jesus” as His words are replaced

with a false idol determined to win the race

to the White House and the presidency.

So, we sit together and drink our tea.

We may find it hard to stand on our feet.

But we shall not allow our democracy’s defeat.

We will vote for the only political party

we would be willing to invite to join us at tea.

Democrats all, we still can stand tall.

We may be a bit slower, but we go where we need to be,

to the polls to vote for those who still uphold the law.

We still speak what needs to be said

as facts remain alive, and truth is not yet dead.

We are still alive, as you can see. No one is too old

to uphold democracy and jail those whose crimes

are so many and so bold. We ladies recognize

that lies are still lies, no matter who enjoys their telling.

The con is not new, though the conmen may be.

Heat the kettle. Bring the water to a boil.

Brew the tea. Fill your cup. 

Drink the real tea and wake up.

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GRIEF

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Everyone grieves in their own way, so they say.

But, steadfast Grief remains the same.

Lips once tilted in joy, Grief holds tight with the strain

of holding back anger and keeping screams at bay.

Grief tightens the brow and hardens the eye

to hold back the tears which threaten to slide

tearing apart all that we hold deep inside.

Cheeks held too tight crease 

and create runnels where tears may glide.

Grief clutches jaws held fearfully tight.

Once tears escape, will our held-back sobs fight

with a pulse so strong they can never be stopped?

Like a street thug, Grief pounds us into submission

and never takes time to ask our permission.

It pushes us down with pummels fierce and powerful.

Grief uses its bruising punches to keep us sorrowful.

We lie on hard pavements praying for the end to our suffering.

We feel we are losing our grip on reality.

We clutch at old truths, begging help to appear and lessen our sorrow.

Even Grief grows tired over time and lessens its blows.

Help comes when we unclench jaws and scream,  

and shout, and let our tears and fears outwardly flow.

Soften the eyes. Relax the brow. Let the tears flow. 

Tears wash away sorrow that new faith can be planted

in every tomorrow, with new ways to love

and new paths to follow.

Signs of grief always remain in new lines

that furrow about our lips, across the edge of our eyes,

and on necks which will, henceforth, our heads tip

slightly down, with greater humility, a bit.

Over time bruises heal, muscles grow stronger.

We learn we can handle the tough thugs who sit

on the sidelines, hidden in shadow.

We learn love again, embracing those who came to help.

We learn faith again, embracing those who prayed by our side.

We learn hope again, embracing those who helped us to our feet.

We stand again on loving, faith-filled, hopeful feet;

and, find a new path where joy and laughter can leads us.

We see our new selves in the eyes of those we pass.

We are stronger and last longer than Grief ever could.

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PAIN

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Pain changes all.

It puckers lips which can no longer speak.

It furrows brows and narrows the view.

It buckles the knees, threatens our fall.

There is so much pain everywhere,

enough to spare, too much to bear.

Pain always wants out,

it erupts in a shout,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

Does anyone hear?

Too many continue

to pour salt in the wound.

Too few seem to care.

Too many press fingers on spots

that pulse too hot

until pain explodes and we drop

to our knees as we plead,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

Human angels run by

and try not to cry

as they sound the alarm

and beg to succeed

in stopping the harm.

U.N. food trucks are bombed.

Opposition leaders are killed.

Weather tells stories

to gain our attention.

The earth pleads as do we,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

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SNOW!

We often think that Spring brings our first hopes

of a new life, a new world, a new cause to celebrate.

We need not wait for Spring to hope.

Eight inches of snow fell silently and cloaked

the surfaces of note that set our scene,

a scene fearfully bleak which clouds all thoughts

of a fearless life, and hides the fear which lies below

our greatest hopes, limited by what, we do not know.

We fear the worst after watching the news

meant to keep us watching, our nerves hanging on every word.

Snow!

Snow changes our landscape in a moment.

The deeper the snow, the greater the wind, 

the more we see of all the possibilities 

to change the world we ache to know.

All darkness and decay disappears by end of day.

White whorls of snow cover every branch of every tree,

and shrub and shed. No tracks yet made by others 

who share this place with me.

The sun rises in  a fiercely blue sky and tracks appear

upon the new world of white light strewn across its face.

Snow!

Snow allows us to dream we can make all clean.

Our purity glows within each crystal caught by sunlight,

raising our spirits, capturing our innocence.

We believe we can change, too. All is right in a world draped in white.

My first hope does not wait for Spring.

It comes alive at the sight of the first big snow.

Snow reminds me that landscapes can change swiftly,

purely, beautifully aglow. Even war’s wounded landscapes

appear at peace when covered in snow.

Impoverished neighborhoods where crime rules breathe softly covered in snow.

Snow!

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POETS

Beyond the words is a place

every writer longs to be.

There, where unvarnished truth

resides alongside unlimited expression.

Poets would take you on the journey 

beyond the words.

The path is not straight.

The path cannot be seen.

The path can only be felt.

The path takes one beyond

the land of dreams 

and thoughts unscreened

to the place nothing seems.

In nothingness all lives.

Every possibility sounds out

silently.

The song cannot be heard.

The song can only be felt.

Until nothing erupts quietly

and words return

surprising me.

Art flows not from the poet.

Art flows through the poet

from that place

beyond the words

where all art resides.

The journey is within.

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